


Rescue

by clgfanfic



Category: Counterstrike (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 19:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team must find and rescue Alexander.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rescue

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine A Small Circle of Friends #1, then later in Black Ops #8 under the pen name Jamie Hector. Based on the plot from an episode of Stingray.

          Two dock workers worked steadily, maneuvering a large crate labeled "Fragile" into the ship's hold.  Their comments made it clear that they were unaware of the contents, but the tall blond man observing them knew and his jaw muscles twitched with suppressed anger.

          The observer waited until the crate was safely stowed before he moved away.  Touching the side of his nose, he set the mission in motion.

          Several minutes later Peter Sinclair, ex-Scotland Yard wunderkind turned head of Industrialist Alexander Addington's Counterstrike taskforce, stood on the south Florida quay, watching passengers cross onto the large ship while the dock workers hurried to finish loading supplies.  He spotted Helene and J.J. moving through the throng, the pilot looking quite convincing dressed as a ship's captain.

          They briefly glanced in Peter's direction, meeting the blond's gaze.  Sinclair gave them a slight nod as they continued, disappearing into the host of passengers and crew boarding for departure.

          Peter returned to his observations.  So far no sign of Patrick McCarol, but it would be easy to miss one man in the crowd.  He silently thanked fate for whatever perverse ego conceit prompted McCarol to use the _La Belle Vita_ , the flagship of Addington Cruise Line.  It made their job a little easier, but the boldness of the choice also worried the ex-detective.  If they had overlooked anything, Alexander Addington was as good as dead.

          But he refused to entertain that possibility.  They _would_ rescue Addington, end of discussion.  That McCarol would try to kill the industrialist for out-bidding him on a small Caribbean island struck Sinclair as petty and ridiculous, but men had killed for far less than a square mile of sand and jungle worth ten million dollars.

          Gabrielle passed by, flashing him a coy smile as she met his gaze over the top of her modish sunglasses.  He returned the smile and shook his head.  The photojournalist was incorrigible, but if it hadn't been for her investigative skills, they might not have uncovered McCarol behind the disappearance soon enough to save Alexander.  When they pulled this off, Addington would owe Gabrielle his life.

          Bennett puttered by, looking crusty in his ship's uniform.  The sight prompted a smile, and Sinclair couldn't help but feel sorry for anyone who might cross the man's path before they found Alexander.

          That just left Stone.

          Peter pivoted, searching the crowd for the man, but not finding him.  "Great," he breathed quietly, a brief surge of trepidation coursing through him and turning his hands cold.

          What if Stone didn't show?  He was still new to the team, he could have decided to cut his ties…

          Someone bumped his shoulder.

          "'Cuse me."

          "Beg your pardon," Sinclair replied automatically, stepping aside.

          Stone shot him a brief grin and continued on.

          Peter frowned, sighed and silently cursed the ex-SEAL.  At least he was there.  As much as he hated to admit it, their plan depended on Stone.

          With one last glance at the throng, Peter crossed the gangplank to the ship.  The mission was a go.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Helene led the way onto the ship's bridge, J.J. at her heels, looking serious and annoyed.  After all, he was playing a captain who had been called back to work at the last minute, probably interrupting a long weekend with a pretty Cuban lady – smooth cocoa-brown skin, dark eyes – yeah, he would look annoyed, too!

          Helene looked efficient and business-like in her dark blue suit and low heels.  The black leather file holder in her hands added to her "in-charge" image.

          "Captain Wheeler?" she confirmed.  "I'm Ms. Helene Previn, Addington Cruise Line, central office."

          A handsome gray-haired man standing at the helm nodded, his green eyes narrowing as he looked past her to where J.J. waited, still looking peeved.

          "May I help you?" he asked.

          Helene nodded.  "I'm afraid I have to ask you to turn the helm over to Captain Johnson."

          "Why?" the man demanded, his voice rising in volume and forcefulness.  The other members of the crew beat a hasty retreat, escaping the line of fire.

          J.J. stepped aside to allow them to leave, carefully keeping a smile off his face. Wheeler had never run into Helene before; he had no idea what he was in for.

          Helene flipped the leather file holder open and scanned the paperwork inside.  "There is a question concerning your C-2 papers," she explained.

          "A question?" he repeated.  "What's that supposed to mean?"

          "They are expired," she stated matter-of-factly.

          "That's impossible!" the captain exploded.  "I had them renewed just—"  He thought a moment.  "Six months ago!"

          "I am very sorry," Helene said, snapping the holder closed.  "But neither the local, national, nor home office could locate a recent set."  She drew herself up.  "You will turn the helm over, Captain Wheeler.  Addington Cruise Line regulations are quite specific.  Failure to comply will result in your immediate dismissal."

          "I'll have somebody's ass for this," the man half-growled.

          "I am very sorry," Helene told him.  "I'm sure this can be sorted out."

          "It damned well better be!" Wheeler said as he waved toward the helm, then stormed off the bridge.  "I'll take this all the way to Addington's office if I have to!"

          J.J. watched the man go, then turned to Helene.  "Very nicely done."

          "I hope so."

          J.J. grinned.  "And just think, when he finally shows up in Paris, guess who'll he see… you."

          Helene returned the smile.  "I don't look forward to that."

          "At least the boss will be there for him to talk to."

          The thin smile faded.  "The rest is up to the team."

          "They'll get him back," J.J. assured.  "They're the best."

          Helene nodded, silently praying he was right.  At least her part in the rescue was over; a success.  If only the rest would go as smoothly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Stone brushed through the crowd on the deck, carrying a small gym bag.  He checked his watch.  The ship would be departing in less than an hour.  He had to set the hand-holds now.

          Waiting for two crew members to move out of sight, he slipped behind one of the many lifeboats positioned along the edge of the deck and squatted down.  Opening the bag, he removed several pieces of rappelling equipment.

          Slipping a belt around his hips, he secured that, then quickly arranged the rappelling equipment for a trip over the side of the hull.  Pulling out several feet of the thin metal wire, he removed a black box with a switch from the bag.

          Flipping the switch, he smiled as the wire was automatically rewound.

          He slid the switch box into his jacket pocket, picked up the bag, attached the wire to the belt's D-ring, and maneuvered to the edge.  Several hundred feet below the Atlantic lapped at the ship's hull.

          Ready, he lowered himself over the edge, the bag dangling from one shoulder. Halting near mid-ship, he held onto the wire with one hand, fished out two sets of magnetic hand-holds and positioned a set on either side of a locked hatch.

          That done, Stone checked the combination Gabby had given him on the hatch lock, watching the electronic switch change from red to green.  With a smile he reset the lock and triggered the device to reel him up to where he could climb back over the railing to the deck.

          Replacing all of the equipment into his gym bag, Stone checked the area to be sure it was clear of crew, or anyone looking his way, then stepped out, rejoining the rest of the passengers as they jockeyed for a spot along the railing where they could watch the departure.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Dan Edwards stepped into Hold B, his gaze sweeping the half-empty room.   He was a tall man, but years of minimal activity and a penchant for beer, pizza, and music videos had left him portly and pale.  His once red hair was dull and streaked with gray that matched his eyes.

          He fancied himself a cross between Dirty Harry and Rambo.

          A large crate marked "Fragile" occupied one corner of the smallest hold on the ship.  Everything else, including some plastic carriers holding a few cats and dogs, sat across the room, stacked neatly along one metal wall.

          Walking over to the large crate, he wondered what was so important that the owners could get an entire hold, more or less, to themselves.  He paced around the large metal and wood box, but there was no manifest attached to tell him what the contents were.  With a shrug Dan walked over to the folding chair leaning against a carrier holding a sleepy Golden Labrador.  He smiled down at the dog, then opened the chair and took a seat.  Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a portable CD player and headphones.  It was going to be another long, boring trip.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Peter stood at the ship's rail, watching the general revelry as they set sail.  The party atmosphere grated against the worry that filled his belly.  Alexander was on board, held prisoner inside a crate.  Whether he was awake or drugged, Sinclair had no idea.

          Helene passed by, the small smile on her lips letting him know that all went well with J.J.  That was something.  At least they had control over the crew and ship. If any of them were involved, they would root him or her out, but it didn't seem likely.

          Stone joined him, leaning against the railing.  "All set," he said, not looking at Sinclair.

          Gabrielle squeezed in between Stone and Peter, then tossed a string of confetti off the side.  "Smile," she told them, grinning, waving and tossing more confetti.  "You're supposed to be having a good time.  It's a cruise ship, remember?"

          Stone flashed her a wolfish grin.  "Oh yeah?"

          "Yeah," she replied, pressing several confetti caps into his hand.

          "Until I find somebody to cruise with, what've I got to smile about?" the ex-Navy SEAL asked.

          "Maybe you'll get lucky," she teased.  Moving past Stone, she patted Peter's butt before disappearing into the crowd.

          Sinclair chuckled.  "Wench," he muttered fondly.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Two days later, Peter and Gabby stood around the corner from Hold B.  They listened to the door squeak open, then close.

          Sinclair glanced down at his watch.  "Eighty-six minutes, ninety-three minutes, eighty-eight minutes, and now ninety-one minutes."

          Gabrielle nodded.  "Is an hour and a half enough time?"

          "It'll have to be," Peter replied.  "After the next injection, we go."

          "Okay," she said.  "I'll go change."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          As the two men in gray pinstripes stepped into Hold B, Dan looked up from his most recent issue of _Combat_.

          "That time already?" he asked them.

          "Mind your own business," the dark-haired member of the pair snarled as his blond companion proceeded to the far side of the crate, out of Dan's line of slight.

          "Must be pretty special cargo in there," Dan said, nodding to the crate.

          The dark-haired man glowered at him.  "You're not paid to ask questions."

          Squatting near the wall, the blond carefully lifted the "Fragile" sign, revealing a man's arm, secured at the wrist and bicep to keep him immobile.  He checked the man's pulse and, satisfied that all was well, reached into his jacket pocket, removing a small black box slightly larger than a cigarette case.  Opening the box, he removed an already prepared syringe.

          Checking the crook of the bound arm, the blond found a vein and administered the injection.  Returning the syringe to the case, he slid it back into his pocket, then stood and stepped out from behind the crate.  Walking over to join his partner, he nodded.

          "We'll be in the stateroom if there's trouble," the dark-haired man said.  "Stay away from that crate."

          "Hey, no problem," Dan assured the pair, wondering what they were doing, but not curious enough to find out.  Besides, he was being well paid for just sitting in the hold, listening to music and reading magazines.

          The pair left, closing the door behind them.  Outside the blond smiled.  "He's doing fine.  No adverse reactions to the drugs at all."

          "Good," his partner replied.  "Another four hours and we'll be a million dollars richer."

          "And Alexander Addington will be dead."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Sinclair and Stone maneuvered silently over the edge of the ship, rappelling down to the pre-positioned magnetic hand-holds.  Neither man looked down at the churning water below them, knowing well enough that if they fell it meant a quick drowning.

          While Peter held onto the grips, the ex-SEAL punched in the lock code, the lights again flashing from red to green.  Gripping the hatch handle, he opened it, letting Peter swing inside first.

          Once inside, Sinclair unhooked the wire and reached out, helping Stone inside.

          Freed from his own line, Stone closed the hatch, then pulled a copy of the ship's blueprints from his jacket pocket to double check his route.  That done, he led the way through a maze of gages, pipes, and bulkheads to a series of electrical and communications switches.

          Checking a second diagram, Stone reached out and pulled one of the handles down.  "Okay," he said, "communication between the cargo hold and the rest of the ship is now cut off."

          Peter checked his watch.  "We have twenty-five minutes."

          Stone returned the schematics to his pocket, slipped the gym bag from his shoulder and pulled out a hand-held welding torch.

          "No problem," he said, starting to work on the metal wall.

          "Let's hope not," Sinclair muttered.  It was just Alexander's life on the line, after all.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Gabby stepped into Cargo Hold B with a seductive twist of her hips and smiled at Dan, who hastily climbed to his feet.

          "Uh," the guard started, his gaze traveling up the shapely woman's figure from heels to choker.  "I— I'm sorry, but—"

          "Hello," Gabrielle interrupted, undulating past the man toward the animal carriers.  She stopped with her back to the man, tugging her skin-tight plum-colored dress down far enough to just cover the bottom of her bright red panties.

          Dan swallowed hard.  "Ma'am, I'm afraid—"

          "Ah, there you are," Gabby purred as she squatted down and wiggled her fingers through the cage-front of a large crate.  "Are you happy to see me?"

          Inside the crate a large Rotweiller whined happily and wagged his nubby tail.  He clawed at the cage front.

          "Uh, ma'am," Dan tried again, but his attention was lost on the long, graceful arc of Gabrielle's exposed legs as she stood.

          She looked over her shoulder, blinking and smiling.  "Can I let him out?"

          "Uh—"

          Not waiting for a reply, Gabby turned back and opened the latch, letting the large dog out.  He shook, stepped out, shook again, then butted his head against her leg, prompting her to scratch him behind his ears.

          "Yes, you're such a good boy," she cooed.  "Such a good boy… did you miss me?"

          "I'm really sorry, ma'am, but passengers aren't allowed in here," Dan finally managed, his gaze locked on the soft curve and deep cleavage of Gabrielle's breast as she leaned over the dog.

          "Oh?  But they told me I could see Jean-Luc whenever I wanted to," she pouted, then brightened suddenly.  "Do you like dogs?"

          "Huh?"

          She walked over and Dan swallowed hard again, trying not to count the small pearl buttons that lined the low scoop neck of Gabrielle's dress.

          "Do you like dogs?" she asked again, reaching up to run a red fingertip around his name tag.  "Dan."

          "Uh, yeah… yeah, I love dogs."  He smiled at her, trying to stop the signals beaming to his nether-regions.  "Especially the big ones, like…?"

          "Jean-Luc," she said.  "He's a Rotweiller."

          "Yeah, I _love_ Rotweillers."

          "They're very macho dogs.  Very protective, you know," Gabby told him, fluttering her eyelashes.

          "I'll bet."

          "And very… masculine."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "I'm through," Stone said softly, switching off the torch.

          Peter checked his watch.  It had taken the man twenty minutes to burn his way through the wall.  That left five.

          "Okay, let's move."

          Stone set his equipment aside and, using another set of magnetic handles, moved the severed obstruction out of their way.  Three feet in front of them sat the crate marked "Fragile."

          The two men clawed closer.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Gabrielle saw Peter and Stone cross to the crate.  She beamed an overly-friendly smile at the guard.  "I just love a man who likes dogs," she said in her best French-flirt imitation.

          "You— You do?" Dan asked hopefully, eyeing the large dog to see if he was going to be jealous.  The Rotweiller just regarded him with thoughtful brown eyes.  Jean-Luc didn't appear inclined to be friendly, but then again, he didn't look like he was going to chew Dan's leg off, either.

          "Jean-Luc is an excellent judge of character," Gabrielle explained, bending over to give the dog a kiss on the top if his head, and giving Dan a view some men would kill for.

          He sighed and took a deep breath.  This just might be a more interesting voyage than he had anticipated after all.  Money and a very good-looking blonde…  Hell, even Chuck Norris couldn't get this kind of woman.

          "Here, why don't you pet him?" she suggested.  "He likes attention.  It… strokes his… ego."

          Dan took a hesitant step closer to the animal.  "Uh, nice dog.  Nice doggie."  He reached out and patted the Rotweiller's back.

          "Here," Gabby said, "like this."  Covering his hand with hers, she guided his fingers over the dog's back and neck.

          Jean-Luc grunted happily and bobbed his nub.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Strokes his ego?" Stone mouthed.

          Sinclair shook his head and shrugged.

          The ex-SEAL used his combat knife to open the crate.

          Inside, Alexander Addington sat slumped in a chair, one arm tied to a makeshift shelf.  His jacket had been taken off that arm and the shirt sleeve rolled up for the injections.

          Stepping into the crate, Peter quickly untied the unconscious man and, with Stone's help, maneuvered him back into the narrow passage.

          Sinclair nodded to Gabrielle as he stepped back into the maze.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          She smiled seductively at Dan.  "Why don't you sit down?"

          "Uh, okay," he said, walking back to his chair and lowering himself slowly.  "This your first cruise?"

          "Oh, no," she replied, "I love to travel, see exotic places, meet… interesting people."  She patted her bare leg and the dog trotted over to her.  "Tell the nice man thank you, Jean-Luc," she instructed, giving the dog a hand signal.

          Jean-Luc trotted over to Dan and bounced, his front paws landing on the man's thigh.  The guard looked uncomfortable with the dog's huge jaws just above eye-level, and close to his face, but he didn't try to push the dog off.

          The Rotweiller panted.

          "Oh, my," Gabrielle said, her eyes going wide.  "I didn't realize how late it was. I'm going to miss my massage!"  She swept around Dan and Jean Luc, heading up the short flight of stairs to the door.

          "Jean Luc, keep Dan company, sweetheart," she told the dog."

          The dog barked once and wagged his stubby tail.

          "Wait!" Dan called.

          "I'll be right back," Gabrielle promised.  "In a couple of hours."

          "But—!"  The door shut, leaving Dan alone with the dog.  He met the animal's inquisitive gaze.  "Nice doggie."

          Jean-Luc licked his chin.

          "Can you get down?" Dan asked.  "Sit?"

          Jean-Luc sat.

          "Good, doggie."

          Standing, Dan frowned at the door, his gut telling him that something was wrong.  Swinging around, he stared at the crate, then hurried over and circled it, stopping when he found the back panel off, and the hole in the bulkhead.

          "Shit!"

          He headed for the door, but Jean Luc intercepted him, positioning himself between Dan and the exit.  The man regarded the dog for a moment, the pieces falling into place.

          "You're not going to let me out of here, are you?" he asked, inching closer to the door.

          Jean Luc growled.

          "Great, just great."

          Heading back down the stairs, he picked up the comm-phone, but it was dead.

          "Damn!"  The visions of his big payday evaporated.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Peter and Stone arrived at their stateroom, supporting Addington between them.  The blond reached out and knocked twice, paused and knocked once more.

          Gabrielle opened the door, a revolver in her hand.

          Stone and Peter stepped inside and she closed and locked the door behind them.  Carrying Addington to the bed, they gently laid him down.  Helene and the ship's doctor replaced them as they stepped away.  The physician immediately set to work, checking the industrialist over for any injuries.

          The three operatives waited in silence for several minutes before the doctor straightened and said, "He's doing fine.  I can't be sure what drugs they used, but regardless I'd guess he'll be fully awake in eight to twelve hours."

          "When do we reach the island?" Peter asked.

          Gabrielle glanced at her ring watch.  "A little over ten hours."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "What?" the blond man shouted.

          Dan took a step back.  "Look, how was I supposed to know she was a— a—"

          "Distraction," the blond's dark-haired companion supplied.

          "Yeah, right, a distraction.  How was I supposed to know she was a distraction?"

          "Have you taken a good look at the mirror?" the blond asked.  "You're a fat, old, has-been, asshole."

          Dan looked hurt.  "Look, all you have to do is find the purser, he can tell you what stateroom she's in."

          "Come on," the blond said, grabbing his partner's arm.

          "If we don't find what we lost," the dark-haired man said softly.  "We're coming back here."

          "Look, I didn't know!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Hey!  Hey, you!"

          The older man dressed in a ship's uniform stopped and turned.  "Yes, can I help you?"

          "You the purser?" the blond asked.

          "Yes, sir, I am."

          The blond glanced at the man's name tag.  "Look, Bennett, I need to find out where a—"

          "There's this woman," the dark-haired man interrupted with a smooth smile.  He could see that his partner's heavy-handed approach was turning the old man off.  "She's blonde, real pretty, and French."

          "Ahh," Bennett said knowingly with a nod.  "I think I know who you mean, a lovely young woman."

          "Yeah," the dark-haired man said.  "We bumped into her, in the gym, and we wanted to invite her to dinner, sort of a competition kind of thing.  You know, to see who she'll go for."

          "I see," the older man said, then glanced at the blond.  "But with such a brusque manner, I really don't think it will be much of a bet."

          The dark-haired man chuckled.  "That's what I'm hoping."

          "Well, it's against company policy for me to tell you what her stateroom number is."  Bennett gave them a hard stare.  "This isn't the Love Boat, you know."

          The blond fished into his pocket, pulling out two one hundred dollar bills.  "This help you rewrite the regulations?"

          Bennett accepted the money and slipped it into his pocket.  "Yes, sir, I'd say it does."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Their search turned up three empty staterooms.

          "Damn it!" the blond hissed.  "Whoever rescued Addington covered their tracks."

          With a sigh, the darker of the pair asked, "So, which one of us is calling the boss?"

          "Neither, not if we want to stay alive."

          "What do we do then, smart guy?"

          "Jump ship as soon as we hit port and hide."

          "Great," the dark-haired man sighed.  But it beat dead.  "Come on, let's go talk to the Captain.  Maybe he'll be able to help us."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          J.J. looked the two men over.  "These the two who threatened you?" he asked.

          Dan stepped out from beside an equipment console.  "Yes, sir."

          J.J. nodded and three security guards stepped up and apprehended the pair.  "Gentlemen, I'm placing you under arrest for the kidnapping of Alexander Addington.  Put them in an empty stateroom and stay with them.  We'll turn them over to the authorities as soon as we dock."

          J.J. watched the pair as they were escorted off the bridge, then turned back to Dan.  "As for you, you're fired."

          "But—!"

          "Company policy states clearly that security guards are to take no additional assignments while serving on board an Addington Cruise ship."

          "I know, but—"

          "Just be glad we're not pressing charges."

          "You've got that right."

          Dan turned to find a distinguished-looking older man standing next to the woman of his dreams.  Gabrielle gave him a sympathetic smile.

          "Who are you?" Dan demanded.

          "Mr. Alexander Addington," Gabby supplied.

          "Oh, shit."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Addington sat at a small table, shaded by a large umbrella and enjoying an iced coffee and the pleasant company of Helene Previn.  A soft Caribbean breeze blew off the ocean.  Not far away Gabrielle, Stone, and Peter lay on lounges, soaking up the sun.

          "Are you sure you're up to this?" Helene asked.

          "I'm fine," Alexander reassured her.  "The doctor's given me a clean bill of health.  And, since we're here, I thought I should see how my investment's doing."

          "It's doin' real nice, Mr. A," Stone called.  "Real nice."

          "Hmm," Gabby agreed.  "It's beautiful."

          Alexander glanced around.  "Yes, it certainly is.  And this is the only beach that's developed.  The rest of the island is strictly hands-off.  Well, except for the nature pathways."

          "Eco-tourism is an excellent alternative to standard development," Helene said. "Start-up costs are high, but in the long run the payoff is much more than money."

          "Yes," Gabby agreed, "visitors can see what the islands looked like before they were discovered and destroyed by man."

          "Not to mention take pictures of the wildlife and enjoy a stay at a _very_ elegant resort," Stone added.

          "Speaking of which," Peter interrupted.  "Just how long will we be enjoying ourselves, sir?"

          Addington smiled.  "Oh, well, at least a week for me, I'd say."

          "A week?" Gabby echoed excitedly.  "That's wonderful!"

          "But you three…"

          "Yes?" Sinclair asked.

          "The Rumanians will be arriving in Paris the day after tomorrow."

          Gabrielle groaned and flopped over.  "Day after tomorrow?  I won't even have time to get a tan," she lamented.

          "Haven't you heard?" Stone teased.  "Catchin' a tan's dangerous."

          "That's why I brought along sunscreen," she countered.

          Peter reached out and picked up the tube of cream from the small table, squirting some onto her back.

          Gabby squealed.  "Peter!"  Scrambling to her feet, she grabbed the lotion back and squirted Peter's chest.

          "Oh, so you want to play, do you?" he threatened, climbing to his feet.

          "I'll bet you can't catch me," she challenged, then turned and headed straight for the surf, Peter in hot pursuit.

          "Yell if you need help, Pete," Stone called after them.

          J.J. walked over and took Sinclair's lounge.  "This is the life," he sighed.

          "You said it," Stone agreed.  "But I'm glad we're flyin' home.  I've had enough of ships to last me a while."

          "Me as well, Mr. Stone," Addington said, chuckling softly.


End file.
